


Dividing the World

by ajstyling



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Racism, Pre-Time Skip, Some Fluff, minor spoilers for Hilda's paralogue battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajstyling/pseuds/ajstyling
Summary: An encounter at Fodlan's Locket makes Hilda rethink her beliefs.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 33
Kudos: 154





	Dividing the World

**Author's Note:**

> Look: Hilda is great. She also says a lot of ignorant things pre-timeskip and this fic attempts to reckon with that and imagine how she began down the path towards change.
> 
> Thanks once again to ao3 user therewasonlyonebed. Both my hilclaude idea generator and beta since day one. Really appreciate it!
> 
> Also many thanks to ao3 user thir13enth who read an early (bad) draft of this, and offered helpful tips on how to make the story what I wanted it to be. So grateful!!
> 
> The story wouldn't be what it is without these two!

_Hail Hilda Valentine Goneril,_

_Your immediate presence is requested to aid in the battle against an invading Almyran Force. They are expected to arrive at Fodlan’s Locket by the fortnight. Preparations have been made for you to arrive within a week. Additional accommodations will be provided for any of your class members who wish to assist._

_Wishing you safe travels and a speedy arrival._

_For the honor of House Goneril_

_General Holst_

Hilda re-read the letter for the third time, disgust etched on her face. It was just like her brother to send a dramatic, formal letter demanding her presence. She highly doubted the “invading force” was something her brother couldn’t handle by himself. Still, the letter didn’t leave much room for dissent and she found it nearly impossible to say no to her brother.

She sighed and threw the letter on her dresser. Holst wanted her there in a week, which meant she would have to depart the monastery early tomorrow. No matter how much she loved him, she vowed to make him pay for the future lost sleep and extra work. 

_Well_ , she thought to herself as she turned towards her closet to begin packing, _at least Claude can come with me._

* * *

“Can you believe this?” Hilda reached her spoon across the table and stole a scoop of sorbet from the small white bowl in front of Claude.

The late hour meant they sat alone at a table in the back of the dining hall. Hilda loved to eat dinner late. She never had to wait in line _and_ could always have as much dessert as she wanted. No one was ever around to pester her about chores that she needed to do. It was also a rare chance to be alone with Claude outside of the confines of their rooms--and Claude was so much better alone. He laughed more and smiled wider; he leaned in close for whispers and made implausible excuses for holding her hand.

Claude frowned, “I can definitely believe that your brother is planning to fight the Almyrans.”

“No, not that,” Hilda rolled her eyes. “I meant can you believe he wrote me that silly letter and is basically forcing me to help him?”

Claude’s frown deepened, “He’s asking you to help him?”

“Yes! Didn’t you listen? It’s not like Holst needs help. He’s been defending Fodlan’s Locket for a long time.”

“And...That’s what you’re upset about?”

“Obviously! I mean why do I need to fight?”

Claude grunted noncommittally and pushed his bowl of sorbet over to her side of the table, “Ah, well, I better let you get packing then.” He stood up and made to move away from the table.

“I mean, you’re coming with, right? 

“I…” He hesitated and then shook his head. “I can’t. Seteth gave me a special task this month.”

Hilda ate dinner with Claude every night for the past two months. They gossipped about anything and everything. She had heard nothing about a special task. 

“Oh.” Hilda frowned, “Well--do you need help with it?”

“No!” He interrupted her, eyebrows furrowed.

Hilda squinted.

He quickly corrected himself, his forehead smoothing out and an obviously fake grin settled on his face, “Sorry. I--I just need to do it alone. Seteth’s orders.”

That didn’t sound like Seteth at all. In fact, Hilda was pretty sure she had never even seen Claude speak to Seteth. 

Still, they had an unspoken agreement that Claude wouldn’t call her out for skimping on chores and she wouldn’t push him to explain his secrets. So she stayed quiet.

“Anyways, I’ve gotta go.” Claude stood up and hurried out of the dining hall so fast he forgot to clean up his plate. 

Hilda sighed and gathered up the dishes from their table. Claude’s excuse didn’t make sense but she couldn’t figure out what reason he had to lie. As she exited the dining hall and made her way towards the dormitories, she resigned herself to a long, dull journey to Fodlan’s Locket.

* * *

In the end, all the rest of the Golden Deer house joined Hilda on her journey. Even Professor Byleth tagged along--she claimed she couldn’t let her students go alone, but Hilda suspected she was just bored. The presence of so many of her classmates rendered Claude’s absence more noticeable. To make matters worse, Hilda confirmed with both Byleth and Lorenz that Claude had given multiple excuses for his absence--none of them involving a special task from Seteth. 

Hilda had suspected he was lying, but it still felt bad to know for sure. Hilda kept all of Claude’s secrets, both big and small. To this day, no one knew that Claude had been responsible for the food poisoning incident that meant cancelled classes for a week. She didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just tell her the truth.

Claude’s absence meant that the trip was unbearably dull. Lorenz never stopped speaking, Marianne never spoke, and Lysithea incessantly insisted that needing help to get on a horse was a common, adult problem to have. 

On top of being dull, the journey from Garreg Mach to Goneril was also exhausting. 

Before the journey, Hilda was under the impression that horses were generally fine. She didn’t love them, but Marianne rambled on about them so much that Hilda had obtained a small bit of affection by osmosis. However, a week of steady riding with minimal breaks had disabused her of every bit of that affection. She had never been more eager to learn flying--the newfound eagerness for learning made her shiver with disgust.

As they neared Fodlan’s Locket, the towering stronghold appeared on the horizon and Hilda’s boredom was replaced with a sense of anxiety.

The Golden Deer House owed much of its recent success in battle to how well Claude and Hilda fought together. To any outside observer, they seemed to have a preternatural ability to anticipate the other’s actions. More importantly for Hilda, Claude was a source of comfort. An iron-clad promise that someone would always be watching her back. A battle next to Claude didn’t feel like a risk. Not even the possessed villagers of Remire had been able to shake the confidence Hilda felt fighting alongside him.

If Holst expected the students to fight, then Claude’s absence would be a difficulty for all of them, especially Hilda. This thought ate away at Hilda as they continued to approach the fortress. Each step closer produced a deeper sense of anxiety. 

Hilda took some small comfort from the fact that her brother probably just wanted her there for moral support.

* * *

Holst wanted Hilda there for more than moral support. 

Hilda knew this without a doubt when Arnvald, Holst’s senechal, greeted them at the gates of the fortress instead of her brother. 

This was confirmed a short while later when Arnvald brought her to Holst’s quarters. Her brother looked as pale as a ghost and was unable to pull himself from his bed to greet her. 

“He can barely lift a glass of water to his lips. It’s safe to say an axe is out of the question,” Arnvald bemoaned.

“Who’s going to lead the army?” Hilda wondered aloud.

Every eye in the room turned towards Hilda and the deafening silence that followed her question left little doubt who Holst wanted to lead the Goneril forces.

Hilda cursed her brother. She cursed the invading Almyrans. She cursed Claude for his stupid excuses.

She looked at Holst in a near catatonic state on the bed, back to Arnvalad, and then to Holst again and sighed, “Ready the troops and someone bring me an axe.”

* * *

Hilda made her way back towards the looming gate. They had done it. They had fought off the Almyran forces. The battle had been long a gruesome affair. Wave after wave of Almyrans had thrown themselves against the Goneril forces. 

Beneath her heavy armor, a sheen of sweat coated Hilda’s body. Her armor itself was covered in splotches of dirt and blood, the source of the latter remained unknown. Her steel axe dragged against the ground as she walked, desperately hoping to find Lorenz so that he could carry it for her. Her movements felt rote, each step an unfortunate necessity. She just wanted to get back to Garreg Mach--to Claude. She wanted to see his dorky smile and his little blush when she openly flirted with him. She never wanted to fight without him again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a glint of light in her peripherals that shone from the forest to her left. An uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach as she turned slowly to look closer. The iron tip of an arrow was jutting out from a bush at the edge of the forest.

Hilda froze and slowly lifted her axe, the small pink bow she had attached to handle fluttered in the wind. She was tired, but she hoped if need be she could throw it before the arrow was loosed.

“The battle’s over,” She called out and quickly scanned her surroundings.

Hilda was dismayed to realize she was alone. The others had all probably made it back to the fortress by now. 

She swallowed slowly, axe gripped tightly in her right hand, and called out again, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

After a moment, a young boy stepped out of the bush his bow held taught, arrow pointed at Hilda. The young boy had dark skin and long, dark hair which had been braided and hung to the side of his face. The braid was adorned with small golden flowers.

He looks a bit like Claude, Hilda thought to herself. Then, all at once, she realized three things.

The first was that the boy looked nothing like Claude. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old. The way the bow shook in his hands revealed a degree of inexperience and fear that Claude must have banished long ago.

Claude was all lean muscle and towered over her, despite not being the tallest boy at the monastery. The boy was shorter than Hilda and the remnants of childhood fat still sat on his cheeks. The more she looked, the more clear it became how different they were.

The second thing Hilda realized is why Claude refused to join them on this trip. The weird excuses made sense now--as did the way he talked about the Almyrans like he had first hand knowledge. Every question she had ever had about his childhood, his appearance, his shocking announcement as the heir to House Riegan, they all made sense in that moment. Hilda couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized it before.

Finally, Hilda realized that she never wanted to fight Almyrans again.

The realization overwhelmed her and she let her axe fall to her side. After a moment, she loosened her grip and let it fall to the ground next to her with a quiet thud. Then she raised her hands in a show of peace. 

“Look, see? I won’t hurt you. Just, put the bow down. I can help you.” Hilda pleaded.

“You can’t possibly help me,” the boy shouted back, his voice quivered with rage and fear and the bow in his hands continued to shake violently.

“Please. We can take care of you,” Hilda whined, hands still frozen in the air.

“I don’t want your care.”

“I-I can help you go back. To Almyra.” Hilda tried again.

A flicker of hope crossed the boy’s face as he considered the possibility. Hilda watched as his grip on the bowstring loosened a fraction. She took a deep breath. She would help this boy. She would get him back home. She would do it.

“I promise if you set the bow down and promise not to shoot, I will help you.” Hilda called out.

She watched as the boy deliberated for a moment, some war waging in his mind, before he slowly turned the bow away from Hilda.

“Thank yo--”

The wind had fallen away and in that moment Hilda heard the twang of a bowstring as it was pulled tight and then a snap as an arrow was loosed. Without a second thought, she sprinted towards the boy determined to outrun the arrow.

Time froze as she watched the zip past her and lodge itself in the boy’s chest. He looked down at the arrow, as if he couldn’t believe that it was there and then, without a word, he fell to the ground his bow clanging beside him.

Hilda screamed. She screamed as Leonie pulled her away from the boy and she screamed as Lorenz lifted her onto his horse. She screamed as they rode back to the fortress and she screamed as Marianne escorted her to the medic. She screamed as they washed her cuts and she screamed as they brought her food. She screamed and screamed and screamed.

* * *

When they returned from the monastery, Hilda locked herself in her room for a week. She joylessly skipped exams and meals. Days passed by in a haze and she alternated between listlessly staring at the ceiling and fitful attempts at sleep. Nightmares of young boys with arrows protruding from their chests consumed her mind. Sometimes, that boy of her nightmares ended up being Claude. 

So she continued to shut herself away from her classmates, from her professor, from him.

At first, many of them tried to knock, to plead with her to come out and eat some food or go see Manuela. Hilda ignored them all. After a few days the knocks slowed down, until eventually they stopped.

Only Marianne continued to stop by Hilda’s room. She came by three times a day after each meal. She would gently set a tray of food outside Hilda’s door before quickly leaving without having said a word. All sense of time faded from Hilda, except that which was provided by Marianne’s silent visits.

At the end of the week, well after Marianne’s third visit, Hilda’s restless sleep was interrupted by a series of knocks on her door. She immediately recognized the pattern as the secret knock Claude had created for them. 

After a moment his voice reached through the door, “Hilda?”

Her heart seized in her throat at the sound of his voice. He must know what happened during the battle at Fodlan’s Locket. He must know and it must fill him with rage.

At once all of the propaganda her family spewed, all of the ignorant words she uttered, and all of the hateful ideas she had been taught rushed into her mind. The thoughts burned in her mind like a scalding knife and left Hilda with nothing but guilt.

“Hilda? Can I come in?” His voice asked gently through the door, not a trace of rage to be found.

She couldn’t avoid him forever. Resigned to that thought, she stood from the bed and made her way to the door. Her hand shook uncontrollably as she reached for the handle. She opened the door a crack--just enough for him to squeeze through--before hurriedly retreating to her bed.

Claude pushed open the door a bit further and stepped into her room. He used his elbow to gently shut the door behind him and waited in the doorway.

Hilda chanced another glance at him. The soft glow of candlelight let her observe the concerned look on his face as well as the small bowls he held in each hand. He didn’t avert his gaze when they made eye contact.

“May I?” He gestured towards the foot of the bed.

Hilda nodded silently and scooted as far towards the head of her bed as possible. Claude moved to the foot of the bed and sat down. His eyes watched her, burning guilt into her skin wherever they looked. He leaned forward and set the bowls down in the middle of the bed. Hilda noticed that each one seemed to be full of strawberry sorbet.

“I know Marianne’s been bringing you food, but you missed a week's worth of stealing my dessert.” He pushed one of the bowls towards her. 

“I don’t need you to baby me.” Hilda shifted on the bed and turned away from him. 

“I know.” Claude sighed as he grabbed both of the bowls and set them down on the floor before he scooted down the bed closer to her, “Consider them payback for not coming with you to Fodlan’s Locket.”

Hilda turned quickly to face Claude, pain etched onto her face. “You have nothing to pay me back for. I--I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

Claude shrugged, moving further up bed, “You shouldn’t have asked and I should have come.” 

“Why are you like this?” Hilda turned away from Claude once more, unable to bear the weight of those soft, caring eyes. He should be upset. He should be yelling and crying.

Claude moved closer again. She could feel the heat from his body as he now sat only a few inches away from her. “Why am I like what?”

“Sweet and caring.”

Claude’s breath tickled the back of her neck as he laughed quietly.

“I’m serious!”

“I’m sure you are.” Even without turning, she could hear the smile in his words. Enough was enough. If he wasn’t going to bring it up, then she would have to. 

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” Her voice quietly shivered as she asked.

“What would I be mad at you for?”

She knew that the next words might be the last words her and Claude ever said to each other, but she knew that he deserved and apology and an acknowledgment. It could never be enough, but he deserved it all the same.

“For going to Fodlan’s Locket. For asking you to come with me.” She paused and remembered watching the life drain from the young boy. 

She shuddered, unsure how to go on. How does one apologize for knowing something they weren’t supposed to know? How does one apologize for the actions of their family? How could she give Claude the words he deserved to hear? How could she do it without risking herself, her comfort, her relationship with him?

They sat in silence for a few seconds. 

Claude broke the silence, “I’m mad at a lot of things, Hilda.”

He slipped even closer until she felt his chest press against her back.

He rested his head on her shoulder and brought his lips close to her ear before continuing, “I’m mad at people who raise children to hate an entire group of people. I’m mad at the way we let arbitrary borders decide who is a person and who isn’t. I’m mad at crests and the people who value them. I’m mad at Rhea and I’m mad at the systems of power which uphold this stupid, broken way of doing things. ”

He smelled like sandalwood and hint of rosin and his warm breath fanned pleasantly against the back of her neck, but his voice in her ear was steeled with resolve and resentment. She had never heard him speak this way before. Her heart hammered in her chest

She moved to stand but he caught her wrist and gently pulled her back towards him. She turned her head and looked up at him. His eyes burned with… anger? Resolve? Something… else?

“I’m mad at all those things. And I’m going to change them.” He leaned down and pressed his brow to hers. His other hand settled on her waist, soft and gentle as a whisper. 

Hilda knew two things:

She knew that she wanted to kiss Claude, not because he could do her homework or clean her room or take chores from her. She wanted to kiss Claude because he smelled like sandalwood and rosin, because of the steely way he spoke about making the world better, and because his grip on her wrist made her burn in an entirely new way.

And she knew that she shouldn’t kiss him. Because she still owed him an apology, because of who her family was, because of what she had done, and because people who kiss the sweet boys that refuse to do chores for them end up risking their lives for them.

She felt herself leaning into him, giving into his soft touch. His lips were so close, just a breath away and they would be hers. She couldn’t look away.

“I didn’t like eating dinner alone,” He whispered.

Words seemed far away, but she knew this was her last chance to say something that could cool the desire burning in his eyes. She had to tell him that she couldn’t kiss him. That she would help him achieve his dream, but never kiss him. That if she kissed him they would both end up doing foolhardy things. She had to say something as Claude and his beautiful, clever mouth waited inches away from hers.

“Me neither,” She said at last, before she closed her eyes and crossed the last few inches between them.

One moment her lips were her own. The next, they were his. And she was drowning in them. The taste of him on her tongue was like a cool glass of water on a hot day. She needed more.

She wound her fingers through his hair to draw her body against his and her fingers brushed against the small braid at the side of his face.

_A young boy’s body lays in the grass. His long, meticulously braided hair lays beside his face in a pool of blood. His hands are still, never to braid hair again. There’s an arrow in his chest, but all Hilda sees is his hair._

The memory doused every desire in Hilda in a cold bath of guilt. The press of his tongue against hers now tasted like blood. She pulled away and moved a hand to his chest using it to create enough space to breathe again.

Claude let out a breath of air, surprised, as if someone had woken him from a pleasant dream with a splash of ice water.

“I-uh- I’m sorry?” He said.

“No, sorry. It’s me. I just… don’t think we should do this.”

Claude looked bewildered, “Oh, um, okay. Did I--”

“No, you didn’t. I just--” Hilda trailed off. “We just can’t kiss,” she added hurriedly.

He nodded towards her with a small sad smile and with as much faux bravado as he could muster said, “Understood. No worries.”

That’s not what Hilda wanted to say. She tried again, “Not like... forever.”

Claude stood silently, looking more bewildered than ever. She wasn’t used to seeing him being so unguarded with his emotions. 

“Just like… for now.”

Claude, to his credit, didn’t push her or question it. He shrugged and nodded, “Works for me.” 

His voice was steady again, no false sense of bravado or overcompensating and the sad smile was gone. He was giving her a way out. A way back towards dinners in the back of the dining hall-- just the two of them coyly flirting or planning a way out of a lecture or making fun of Lorenz’s hair. 

It was exactly the sort of thing he did that made her want to kiss him in the first place. 

She fought that impulse.

She still hadn’t apologized. She hadn’t promised him she would be different. She couldn’t promise him that she would grow and change. She couldn’t promise that she would risk her well being for his dreams. So she shouldn’t tell him how badly she wanted to keep kissing him.

Still, she wanted to give him something, anything. 

“I want to help you,” She settled on. 

“You want to help me?” Claude said slowly, his face still bewildered. 

“With your plan… to change the world.”

“You don’t even know my plan.”

“But I know you have one.”

Claude gave her a confused look, before grinning, “It’ll involve a lot of work.”

“I work sometimes,” She crossed her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed, “That you do, Hilds. That you do.”

He stopped laughing and turned serious once more, “Your family might not--”

“I don’t care.” She fixed him with a stare that dared him to challenge her.

“In that case,” His grin stretched across his face and reached his eyes, “Are we on for dinner tomorrow?”

Hilda wasn’t ready to give him the apology or promises he deserved. But she could give him dinners. For Claude, dinners were a small ask.

“Of course,” She dropped her hands to her side and gave him as much of a smile as she could muster.

Claude shifted back and forth on his heels for a moment and seemed on the verge of saying something else. Instead, he nodded quickly and turned towards the door. He crossed the room in two long strides before he stopped at the door, hand resting on the handle.

“Goodnight, Hilda.” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, but quickly opened the door and exited shutting it gently behind him. Hilda heard his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

She stared at the closed door for a minute before she raised a hand to her lips. She tried to focus on the feeling of Claude’s lips against hers, his tongue pressing against hers. All she could think of was blood, sweat, and regret. 

Why did she tell Claude she would help him? Why did she kiss him? Why didn’t she just apologize? Why did she want to run to his room and pick up where they left off? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about that poor boy on the ground outside of Fodlan’s Locket?

She sighed as she threw herself upon her bed and settled in for another restless night of sleep.

That night she dreamed of a handsome boy who smelled of sandalwood and rosin. His body lay on the ground outside of a towering fortress. Hilda knew she had to tell him something, she just couldn’t remember what. She shook him again and again and again, hoping to wake him. The boy remained still, his body cold to the touch.

Hilda woke screaming and shivering. She looked to the floor and saw two small bowls. The sorbet in them had melted.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell with me about fire emblem, hilclaude, and why those poor children at garreg mach all need therapists:
> 
> Twitter: @ajstyyling  
> Pillowfort (do people use this?!??): ajstyling


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